


A Tale for a Secret Love

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blow Jobs, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Consensual Underage Sex, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, Riding, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Shaw and Charles just mentioned in passing, and they're both underage, most of the sex is overage if you see what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: They met as boys and fell in love.  They meet again as grown men.  Their love has not died.  But Charles is married to the King and Erik is his General.





	A Tale for a Secret Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A tale for a secret love [fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550219) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey). 



> Mikanskey's art is so beautiful I couldn't help myself. Mikanskey, I hope you like my tribute to your work.

Charles stands at the window, looking out into the twilight. The entire east wing of the castle is ruinous, except for this tower. It's the most ancient part of the castle. The walls are twelve feet thick and it has survived almost a millennium intact. It's winter and the trees are black and leafless. They can't risk a fire though, so they've made themselves a nest on the old four poster bed - they'd had to smuggle in new bolsters as the original mattress had become a rats' nest - using velvets and furs and blankets of the finest wool. Erik brings heated stones wrapped in towels in his capacious satchel.

Erik lies sleeping in their nest, draped in a silvery green robe the colour of his eyes. Charles wears a velvet robe in Xavier blue. He glances at Erik, illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle. They can't risk too much light either. He remembers first meeting Erik. He'd been thirteen, a scholarly, introverted boy, riding a horse he couldn't quite control for a dare from his sister. The horse had bolted and Charles had been quite sure he was going to die, when another rider had ridden alongside, grabbed the reins and bought the panicked horse to a halt. Erik.

He'd been fifteen, already a soldier in King Sebastian's army. He'd already fought in battle, already killed. He'd been scornful of Charles as a soft, spoiled little lordling, but somehow he'd agreed to meet Charles the next day. And the day after that and the day after and all through that golden summer. They'd talked endlessly, of Erik's travels and Charles' studies at first. Then Charles had told him all about Raven and Erik had spoken of his mama and papa. Charles had shared how his father had died a few years ago, how his mother didn't care for him and how he hated and feared his stepfather and stepbrother. Erik had opened his heart and confided that his parents were dead, killed by King Sebastian's army, and he had been taken and trained to fight in that same army.

Charles had wept for his friend. Erik had remained dry eyed, but he had comforted Charles, wiping his eyes and embracing him. They had kissed, Charles' first kiss, and touched each other with clumsy hands until pleasure shot through them like an arrow. So many afternoons they had spent lying in the long grass, bare limbs entwined, learning the language of touches and caresses, learning how to bring joy with lips and hands and tongues. Autumn came and Erik was recalled to Genosha and Charles was deluged with the duties pertaining to a prince of Westchester. How many nights did he sob himself to sleep remembering Erik, who hadn't even known who Charles truly was?

The years passed. Charles was seventeen when King Sebastian's envoys came asking for his hand in marriage. The Westchestrian forces were smaller than the Genoshan army, but their weaponry was more advanced due to the country's adamantium deposits. A union between their royal families made perfect sense for both sides. So Charles was shipped off to marry a man he'd never met. He'd disliked Sebastian on sight and he'd come to hate him after the casual brutality of their wedding night. Sebastian didn't need to have sex with him - Charles couldn't bear an heir of course, so they'd adopt from within their families as was the custom for male/male pairings - but he'd soon realised Charles despised him and took a perverse delight in exercising his marital rights.

Then the Ninth Division had returned from pacifying the southern borders and Erik had returned with them, already a commander at the age of nineteen. Recognition had been instant and mutual. Despite the danger, despite that fact that it was high treason, despite the spies that swarmed the court like blowflies, they'd fallen into bed and back in love within the week. Six years later and Erik is Sebastian's most trusted general and Charles has four adopted children he adores and they are still lovers and still risking death. Charles is royalty, he'd lose his head to the executioner's sword. Erik is a commoner, he'd be hung, drawn and quartered.

Charles turns to gaze at Erik. The candlelight picks out the red in his auburn hair. His nose is classically straight, unlike Charles', his cheekbones are high, his jaw square, his lips thin yet sensual. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow and his body corded with lean muscle. He is scarred by war and Charles grieves every mark. His massive cock peeks out from the silky material of his robe.

Erik and a number of likeminded army officers are planning to depose Sebastian. Every day Charles expects to hear that they have been denounced, that they are enduring torture in Sebastian's dungeons. Every day he expects Sebastian to bring him to a broken Erik and whisper "he betrayed you in the end."

He turns to look out of the window again. There is a rustling behind him. Strong hands, scarred yet still elegant, brush across the wide collar that encircles Charles' neck and settle on his shoulders. Charles hates that collar, golden and bejewelled though it be, because only Sebastian holds the key to unlock it and it is the symbol of his ownership of Charles.

"You're cold," whispers Erik's deep voice in his ear, "Come back to bed."

Those large hands slide the velvet robe off Charles' shoulders. It pools at his feet, a lake at midnight. Firm fingers turn Charles to face Erik. He looks at Charles with such wonder.

"Look at you, I swear you're a creature from some fairytale, with that alabaster skin, hair the colour of the shadows under the trees, eyes of the summer goddess and lips that have stolen the tint of a thousand poppies. What have I done to deserve you?"

Charles smiles.

"You have been yourself; forthright, stubborn, gentle and true."

He places his hand on Erik's chest. He can feel his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic.

"You are my light, my life, my love, the blood in my veins, the beat of my heart, the darkness in my head."

Erik falls to his knees and wraps his arms around Charles' hips. He presses his face against Charles' cock. Charles gasps and winds his fingers into Erik's hair. Erik kisses his cock, reverent as a monk at prayer. He licks the sensitive head, then takes Charles in his mouth. Charles staggers and has to steady himself on Erik's shoulders. Erik sucks and uses his hand to work that part of Charles' length he can't get in his mouth. He looks up at Charles, grey-green eyes glittering in the candlelight. Charles puts his fingers to Erik's cheek, feeling the movement of his cock in the warm, wet cave of Erik's mouth. He moans.

Erik puts his other hand on Charles' buttocks. He slips a finger between Charles' cheeks and eases it into his hole, already oiled and stretched from their earlier encounter. He taps at the place that sends tremors through Charles' whole body and he's done, he's coming, coming down Erik's throat and all over Erik's face as he pulls off. Charles loses himself for a few minutes.

When he comes round, he's lying in their nest, Erik curled around him like an exceedingly affectionate snake. Erik's erect cock is pressed against his belly. Charles flicks it with a fingertip. Erik groans.

"You're mine Erik of Lehnsherr and I, Charles Francis, Prince of House Xavier, I'm yours and I'm going to prove it to you."

He grabs the flask of oil from the floor, almost falling off the bed as he does so, slathers his fingers in the slippery liquid and presses two into his hole.

"Ah, so good, so good, but not as good as your cock's going to feel."

Erik tries to push a finger into Charles, but he slaps his hand away and shoves him down on the bed. Erik is a hardened combat veteran. He could overcome Charles in an instant, yet he is helpless against him.

"You can look, but don't touch."

Erik makes full use of the permission to look. His eyes are almost comically wide as he watches Charles add another finger.

"Enough. I need you."

Erik reaches for him and Charles waves him imperiously away.

"On your back and don't move."

Charles straddles him and impales himself on his cock in one smooth motion. No matter how many times he takes Erik into him, it's always a wonder and a delight. The length. The width. Unyielding hardness wrapped in satin skin. He pauses to enjoy the sensation of being so deliciously full and stretched. The slight burn. The subtle sting. Erik lies quite still, gilded with sweat like a golden statue. His muscles tremble with the effort of keeping still.

Charles starts moving. Up and down, with the occasional hip rotation thrown in.

"Please, Charles, please let me move."

"Not yet, my love, be patient."

Charles ups the pace and charges the angle. Yes, yes, there it is, that secret spot. Charles uses Erik's prick to hit that spot again and again. His own cock is stiffening once more.

"Touch me, sweetheart."

Erik tugs on his cock so gently, so lovingly, then gives Charles' balls a squeeze. Charles yelps and comes all over Erik's perfectly muscled belly.

"Move," hisses Charles.

Erik's hands clamp onto his hips and he thrusts up. Charles is sensitive from coming and it hurts, but it's a good hurt and he loves it. Erik's shouts "Charles!" and comes. Charles revels in the hot wetness that marks the very centre of his being as Erik's. He slumps forward onto Erik's chest. They lie there, breathing in synchrony.

Erik leans over the side of the bed, his cock slipping out of Charles, and grabs a leather waterskin. He dribbles some onto a corner of a blanket and cleans them off, Charles first. He dries them with another corner. Charles winds his arms and legs around him, his Erik, his love. Erik kisses his brow.

Tomorrow the King returns from the northern lands. Tomorrow the Prince will once more be the Consort of a man he hates. Tomorrow the General will plot against the tyrant. But tonight, ah, tonight, they are Erik and Charles, two boys sleeping in a tangle of limbs in the long grass under the warm summer sun.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Run Along Like I’m Supposed To (A Tale for a Secret Love Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231564) by [terrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrae/pseuds/terrae)




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